


Ontari

by NeverEverFaceTheDark



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, no Nightblood trial by combat slaughter because it just. doesn't. make. any sense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-15
Updated: 2016-04-15
Packaged: 2018-06-02 10:17:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6562420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeverEverFaceTheDark/pseuds/NeverEverFaceTheDark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>The First Commander guided us through the storm, strenghtened our blood against its bite. She passed on to us her very Spirit, so she might lead us forever.</i>
</p><p>  <i>- The Book of The First Commander </i></p><p>She is taken in the midst of winter.</p><p>or</p><p>When Lexa forces the Coalition into place, she discovers a Nightblood hidden away at the Ice Nation court and decides to bring the girl to Polis.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ontari

**Author's Note:**

> This idea wouldn't leave me alone since reading [this post](http://decaheda.tumblr.com/post/142553718082/ok-but-imagine-if-lexa-found-out-about-ontari) because duckling Ontari is absolutely adorable and she probably had an awful life of it having been 'stolen'. And I was also like, that's a GREAT opportunity to explore some more Grounder and Trikru politics and spirituality in the beginning days of the Coalition and make it all make sense. There's going to be Becca flashbacks. Please comment with any feedback!

_The First Commander guided us through the storm, strenghtened our blood against its bite. She passed on to us her very Spirit, so she might lead us forever._

_\- The Book of The First Commander_

................................................................................................................................................................................................ 

She is taken in the midst of winter. 

The village is starving, and her father gives her leather to chew with loose teeth to stave off hunger. It is nothing compared to the harrowing lack that the people of the North suffer, the Chief and Elders mumble worriedly around the campfire. They say the Azgeda Queen is not as wise as Heda.

At the beginning of the cold days, the Mountain took two of Heda’s scouts stationed with them. When the Azgeda raiding party slips through, deep into Trikru territory, there is no warning. Instead of the soft shake of her father’s hand on her shoulder it is bloodcurdling battle cries that wake her at dawn. Her mother grabs her by the scruff of her coat and stuffs her behind the bed, as her father jumps out and grabs his axe. Her mother looks her in the eyes, and says very quietly, ‘be still,’ before throwing a fur over her. She hears her unsheathe her sword, and the sound of metal scraping on metal draws a shiver of panic down her back. Her fingers curl around the knife always at her hip, as she tries not to tremble, the lack of her parents’ warm arms around her a sudden gaping absence in her chest.

All Trikru fight to survive. If Azgeda take their last food, even Heda cannot save them this winter. If Azgeda destroy their village, the Clan loses the rich territory that hundreds have bled for. If her family dies today, she knows that like all Trikru children, she will be welcomed in Polis, fostered by the Clan.

She is still. Through the clatter of swords on swords, the screams of pain and panic and shouts of battle, the sound of arrows cutting the air, the stamping of boots on earth and snow. She is still until the door is kicked in and an Azgeda warrior bends over the bed looking for the nuts her father gathered in late autumn. 

She forgets her mother’s command and rears up, fury beating desperately in her veins, her hand around the knife the way the warriors had taught her. She stabs but hits armour, and a moment later she’s smacked into the wall. Her nose explodes in pain and her sight goes black for a moment. The warrior grunts in surprise when he swings her around.

She’s dragged out by a hard grip on her arm, tears streaming down her face. Her uncle lies in the muddy snow directly opposite the hut, blood dripping from his throat, his hunting bow now in the hands of an Azgeda warrior. A sob builds somewhere deep in her chest but she cannot stop herself from looking. Every corpse has a familiar face, now empty of the people she knew. Even the Elders have not been spared. She spots her mother slumped against the Chief’s hut. She pulls with such strength so suddenly that she slips from the warrior’s grasp. She hears his curse and his heavy footsteps as he gives chase but she has always been fast. 

Her mother lies in a pool of pink sludge. Her sword arm drips blood and her throat has been cut. Her face is pulled in a grimace of agony, her chin splattered with red.

Her hands tremble. The words hammer in her head but she cannot speak them for the sobs that spasm in her lungs. _yu gonplei ste od-_

She is pulled up roughly and her hands quickly bound behind her back. The warrior throws her over his shoulder, grumbling. She does not look up, does not struggle, cannot seem to breathe. There are more warriors, speaking Azgedasleng, the other children. She hits the frozen ground hard but only gasps. They are all crying, her cousins, Jak, the Chief’s son Kolin, Sara, with whom she would have practiced grappling today under the watchful eye of gona Kimber. 

They draw closer to each other, cluster, grip, shiver as one, the bloodied swords in the hands of their guards a constant reminder not to move. Azgeda find the food, they find the few horses. They take weapons and clothes and medicine. Load it quickly into bags and onto their backs and more of their own horses brought into the village.

When they are finally done she is plucked efffortlessly from amongst the others as though their hold on each other means nothing and she comes face to face with the woman sporting the most frightening scars. The warrior wipes under her painful nose and catches the first rays of the watery sun on the black blood that comes away on her fingers. She speaks something to her warriors.

She is bound to a horse and behind her she hears the others gasp as warriors cut into their arms to know their blood colour. To know whether they are Natblida. 

Her parents and the village Elders said that her blood meant that when red smoke above the trees signalled the passing of Heda, she would be called to Polis. That it was an honour and a duty.

When the last of her seingeda cry out in pain and fear and the sounds of scuffle die moments later she understands it means she will live today. She understands that all days after will be as an eternal winter.


End file.
